


Came Out of the Woods By Choice

by thensepia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes, Christmas, College, Comeplay, Feelings, Fellatio, Fluff, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-03 22:59:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thensepia/pseuds/thensepia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the newly-rebuilt Hale House, Derek is hosting Christmas Eve dinner for the pack, most of whom have scattered for college, and Stiles is cooking. But a freak storm knocks out the power and snows everyone in, preventing them from making it to Derek's, so he and Stiles spend Christmas Eve together. Feelings ensue as they come up with some creative ways to conserve body heat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The heater in the Jeep was doing its best, open full blast but barely cutting through the bitter cold. Despite that, Stiles was in good spirits, grocery bags rustling quietly in the back seat as he bounced up the long driveway to the Hale house. He turned the corner and there it sat, newly restored, freshly painted and nestled amidst the still-falling snow like something off a greeting card. As Stiles cut the engine and climbed out, Derek stepped out on the porch in only his usual henley and jeans, his face slipping into something actually approximating a smile as he walked down the steps to help Stiles bring in the groceries.

“Stiles,” Derek said, reaching out to take a handful of bags.

“Derrrrek,” Stiles said back, his voice mocking, overly-serious. Derek rolled his eyes, and Stiles smiled and reached in to grab the last bag. They made their way back up the porch, Stiles only close to falling once, arms flailing as he slung the groceries around. When they made it inside, Stiles sat down his load and started peeling off layers, coat and gloves and scarf and even an extra hoodie zipped up around his other hoodie. “How are you not freezing to death? Does snow not affect werewolves?” he asked Derek as he hung his outerwear by the door.

“I’m hot natured,” Derek said easily, and Stiles snorted. 

“And yet, you still have the heat going full blast inside. Well, Mister Hot Natured, lead the way. I can’t wait to see this new kitchen.”

Derek turned and led him back through the dining room into the restored kitchen. Stiles sat his bags down on the island and looked around, letting out a low whistle. “Derek… this looks amazing.” He ran his hand down the cabinetwork, across the large gas-burning stove, and over the marble countertop. He turned back to Derek, asking, “You did all this?”

Derek shrugged. “Most of it. Isaac helped. I contracted out the countertops and the wiring.”

“Well, it looks phenomenal. Really.”

Derek looked pleased, his ears going slightly pink as he looked down at the floor. “My mom spent a lot of time in the kitchen, but so did the whole family. It was the heart of the house. Seemed like it should be again.”

Stiles smiled fondly. “It’s perfect. And since you don’t really cook, I can’t wait to put this baby through her paces,” he said, rubbing his hands together expectantly.

Derek looked indignant. “I can cook.”

“Easy Mac does not count. Now help me unload the groceries. What time is everyone coming?” Stiles asked as he started pulling things out of bags.

“Around 5.”

“Perfect.

“It… it will be good. To have everybody here. Together,” Derek said softly. “Thanks for offering to do this.”

Stiles smiled. “Glad to. I miss the pack as much as anybody. College is great and all, and we keep in touch, but it’s not the same. I figured a Christmas Eve dinner together would be perfect. Plus, now that you’re a productive member of society living somewhere _without_ a giant hole of one sort or another in your wall, I figured we should reward that good behavior.”

Derek laughed, and it made Stiles warm inside just to hear it. A year or so earlier, Derek would have merely glowered or offered back some sarcastic remark, but they’d all done a lot of growing, figuring out how to be a functioning pack, even how to be honest and share information with one another. They were strong enough together by the end of their senior year that the life-and-death situations were the exception rather than the norm, and their reputation as a pack kept threats away even as they had scattered to nearby colleges. Erica and Boyd had gone to California State in Sacramento, and Scott and Allison went to UCSD together. Danny went to Stanford for computer science, and Lydia, the farthest afield, was at MIT; Jackson went to Harvard, who, as it turned out, will accept even the douchiest of souls when his parents donate a building. Stiles had, after much debate, picked UC Berkeley mostly for its proximity to Beacon Hills and secondly for its academic reputation. Not the usual order of reasons, but then little in his life was ever for the usual reasons. Only Isaac had stayed home, commuting to UC Davis and helping Derek renovate the house.

“By the way, where’s Isaac?” Stiles asked as he loaded stuff into the fridge. 

“He crashed with Scott last night.”

“Hmm.” Stiles was a little bit jealous, he could admit, but then his Dad had been off work the night before so they’d gone out for diner food together. Stiles was even in such a good mood he’d let his dad get the burger _and_ onion rings.

“Are you still jealous that they’re friends?” Derek asked.

“Oh my god. First, don’t be oblivious. They’re probably more than friends. And second, you just asked me about my _feelings._ You have grown.”

“Well, I can smell the jealousy on you.”

Stiles laughed. “Oh, right, that’s what I like about college. No wolfy mood rings around to smell my every walking thought. And it’s just that I miss spending time with _everyone,_ Scott included. Now, where’s your roasting pan? We have a dinner to make!”

 

. . . 

 

Two hours later, the kitchen had come alive. Stiles had four of the six burners occupied, the turkey was roasting in the oven, and Derek had even slipped an iPod into a cradle on the counter so that music filled the kitchen. They had a good system down, Derek chopping and stirring things as Stiles handed them to him, and Stiles flitting around the kitchen like a mad scientist in the world’s best laboratory. They didn’t talk much, but the easy camaraderie in the kitchen was nearly palpable, and they moved around each other fluidly, like practiced dance partners. Finally Stiles slowed, popping the last of the dishes in the oven to bake, and Derek leaned against the counter, watching him clean up. 

“You’re calmer these days,” Derek said as Stiles scrubbed a pan.

Stiles laughed. “I’m older. By the time I’m fifty I’ll be as Zen as Mr. Miyagi.”

Derek smiled, taking the pan from Stiles and drying it with a dishtowel. “I just mean… you flail less. You’re more focused. It’s good on you.”

Stiles looked over at Derek, handing him another clean pot. “Thanks. I guess I’m in a good place.”

“How’s college?”

“Good. Really good. I like my classes, even if I can’t decide what to major in. I’m taking this English class, and the professor keeps assigning these incredible novels that I love. So maybe I’ll stick with English, I don’t know.” Stiles finished up the last pan and handed it to Derek. He grabbed the corner of Derek’s towel to dry his hands off and leaned against the counter as Derek finished drying. “Berkeley’s cool. A little too hip for its own good, but I like it.”  
Derek started putting cookware away, and when he finished he went over to the fridge and grabbed a couple of beers, holding one out to Stiles. Stiles laughed. “Contributing to underage drinking now, are you?”

Derek frowned, looking more like the Derek that Stiles remembered from high school. “Do you want it or not?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Stiles took the bottle and twisted the cap off.

“Like you don’t drink at school,” Derek muttered, taking a swig from his bottle, shaking his head.

“How’d you know that?” Stiles asked, raising his eyebrow.

“Scott told me.”

“Aww, Derek, are you checking up on me? That’s so sweet!”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek said flatly, and it made Stiles laugh.

“That’s a good impression of the old Sourwolf.” He reached over and rubbed his knuckle over Derek’s scrunched up brow. “Oh, lookit cranky Sourwolf and his epically furrowed brow! Some habits die hard, huh?” Stiles asked, laughing as Derek ducked away from Stiles’ hand. 

Derek slid his beer on the counter and reached for Stiles, but he had already slid around the island, keeping the wide expanse of marble between them. Derek smiled and feinted right, then left, Stiles mirroring the movements, until Derek let his eyes bleed red and jumped across the counter, clearing it easily and pressing Stiles back against the fridge, his hands fisted in Stiles’s hoodie.

“How’s this for old time’s sake?” Derek asked, smiling, deliberately letting the points of his teeth slide out over his bottom lip. 

“God, you pushing me into some sort of hard surface! I’m getting damned nostalgic here,” Stiles said, grinning.

Derek let out a short bark of laughter, letting Stiles go and stepping away. “You never did have enough sense to be scared.”

“Just not of _you,_ Sourwolf.” Stiles smiled. Just then his pocket started ringing, and he fished inside to pull his phone out. “Hey, Scott! What’s up?

Derek walked back to pick up his beer and took a sip, hearing Scott’s voice through the phone. “ _Hey Stiles. Dude… have you looked outside recently?”_

“No, why?”

_“Go look.”_

Stiles walked over to thenow dark window and looked out. The Jeep was just an amorphous white blob in the driveway. “Fuck. That’s… a lot of snow.”

_“Yeah. Like two feet. I hate to say this, but there’s no way my car is going to make it out to Derek’s place in this weather.”_

Stiles put his free hand to his face, pressing on the bridge of his nose. “What about everyone else?”

_“Erica and Boyd are at Lydia’s, and they’re stuck there. Allison is here with me and Isaac.  Jackson’s flight got diverted, and last I talked to Danny he was at Ethan’s and they aren’t answering, so I figure they’re otherwise occupied.”_

“Dammit. So, what you’re saying is that nobody is coming?”

Scott’s tone was indignant. “ _It’s not that we don’t_ want _to. There’s a metric fuckton of snow covering everything, and it’s supposed to keep snowing through tomorrow. The news says there might even be power outages and stuff.”_

Stiles sighed. “No, I get it. I’d rather everyone not wreck trying to get here. Maybe we can all get together after it clears up?”

_“That would be awesome. I’ve missed you.”_

“Me too, buddy. But hey, have fun being snowed in with Isaac _and_ Allison.” Stiles snickered.

“ _We will probably find some way to pass the time.”_ Scott laughed and hung up.

Stiles laid his phone on the counter and looked over at Derek. “Well, I guess you heard that. Everyone is snowed in. Which means nobody is coming. Which means there’s enough food for Hannibal’s army in the oven, and nobody to eat it.”

“There’s us,” Derek said.

Stiles smiled softly. “That there is.” The oven timer went off, making Stiles jump a little before reaching behind him to turn the beeping off. He pulled the turkey out, and while tenting it with foil, said, “I hope you’re hungry.”

Derek smiled. “Famished. I’ll go set the table.”

“‘Kay. Thanks,” Stiles said, pulling other dishes out of the oven, shaking his head at the amount of food. He hoped Derek was _really_ hungry.

 

. . . 

 

They served themselves from the stove, but when Stiles took his plate into the dining room he let out an appreciative whistle. Derek had set two places across from each other at one end of the table, silverware and wineglasses gleaming in the light of two candlesticks that stood between their seats, the flames casting warm and inviting shadows around the room. “This is… really nice, Derek,” he said, setting his plate down as Derek came in. “It’s almost like you’re housebroken.”

“It’s almost like you’re still insufferable,” he shot back. Softer, he added, “Besides, Scott said power outages were possible.” Derek sat his plate down as well. They both took their seats, and Derek lifted his wine glass. Stiles picked his up as well. “Merry Christmas, Stiles.”

“Merry Christmas, Derek,” he said softly, clinking his wineglass against Derek’s. They both drank, smiling at each other as they did so.

 

They talked companionably as they ate, Derek putting away a truly impressive amount of food. Stiles asked Derek about the nearby packs they had treaties with and how things had been going in Beacon Hills while he’d been away. Derek spoke openly, unguarded, and the difference of it made Stiles feel warm and happy, and he leaned back in his chair to regard Derek, a smile on his face.

“What?” Derek asked.

“Nothing.”

“You smell too self-satisfied for it to be nothing,” Derek said, rolling his eyes.

Stiles laughed. “See? Wolfy mood ring. It’s just… it’s awesome to see you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Just….” Stiles waved his hand around, wiggling his fingers in a vague gesture. “You’re so… _relaxed._ Open. It’s great.”

Derek looked down, and Stiles couldn’t be certain in the low light, but he was pretty sure Derek was blushing. “I finally have people in my life that I trust,” he said quietly, fiddling with his fork.

Stiles reached a hand out and touched Derek’s arm. “I’m glad. Really glad.” Derek smiled at him, and opened his mouth to reply just as the lights flickered and went out.

Stiles groaned. “Fuck.” The house was eerily silent as the music in the kitchen and the sound of the furnace both cut out. The candles left enough light to see by, and Derek stood and went to the window. Stiles walked over to join him, looking out at the frozen landscape outside. The Jeep was even more indistinguishable, a dark drift amidst the thick blanket of snow. Stiles had no idea how he was going to get home.

As if he could smell the thought, Derek said, “You’re staying.” Derek’s voice, so close, made Stiles jump. Derek turned to him. “Tonight, I mean. You’re not going to try and drive in this.”

Stiles smiled. “Thanks. Not sure I could get through this anyway, not even in the Jeep.” He crowded closer to the window, looking across the yard, and then back at Derek. “I’m sorry to be stuck here.”

  
“Don’t be," Derek offered, and walked over to clear the table. Stiles grabbed an armful of dishes as well and followed Derek into the now-dark kitchen, only a swathe of moonlight from the window over the sink lighting the room. Derek put the dishes down and went to a far cabinet, pulling out some candles and matches. Stiles started rinsing off plates as Derek lit some candles, placing one on the counter and another in the living room.

“So, what about the food?” Stiles asked. “It’s way too much to toss, but I hate to open the fridge to put it all up, in case the power doesn’t come back on.”

Derek walked back to the counter, looked consideringly at the food for a moment, and then up at Stiles. “What if we just wrapped it all up and stuck it on the back porch?”

  
“Ha! Well, it would definitely keep it cold enough. Think it will attract wild animals or anything?”

Derek smiled a wide smile, his teeth white and glinting in the candlelight. “I’m the biggest predator around. I think it’ll be safe.”

Stiles smiled back at Derek, then laughed and started wrapping up the food. “That you are, big guy, that you are.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

An hour or so later, Stiles and Derek were sitting across the floor from each other in front of the fireplace, a Boggle game between them. Derek had built a fire and Stiles had crowded close to it as the house started to cool.

“…Crutch, quid, hutch, quad, and qat,” said Stiles, marking words off a sheet of paper as he went. 

Derek glowered at him. “Qat? What the hell is that? That’s not a word.”

“Is too. It’s some sort of middle eastern bush.”

Derek opened his mouth to protest but the words caught in his throat as he saw Stiles tense up against a body-wracking shiver. He was already wearing both of his hoodies, but the house was cooling quickly and the fireplace wasn’t doing much to keep up. Derek stood and grabbed a blanket from the couch, tossing it in Stiles’ direction, and then headed toward the kitchen.

“Dude, where are you going?” Stiles asked, wrapping himself up in the blanket.

“Away from that stupid game,” Derek called.

Stiles laughed. “I can’t help it if I have a superior vocabulary. Besides, why do you even have Boggle if you’re so terrible at it?”

“I’m trying to boost the self-confidence of fragile people like you when you come over,” Derek’s voice floated back from the kitchen. Stiles chuckled again, listening to Derek move around in the other room as he doubled the blanket up and rewrapped himself, boxing Boggle back up and pushing it out of the way. Stiles looked around the room, with its white trim and comfortable furniture, and he had a hard time reconciling it with the burnt-out shell that it had been before. There was even a small Christmas tree in the corner, glittery ornaments and popcorn garland nestled in it. He suspected it was the work of Erica, but still, Derek was clearly okay with it.

Derek came back from the kitchen, two steaming mugs in hand. “Here,” he said, holding one out to Stiles, who took it and immediately wrapped his long fingers around it to soak up the warmth. 

“Hot chocolate?” asked Stiles, pulling it close to his face and inhaling the steam. 

“Benefit of a gas stove—still works when the power is out.” 

“Thanks, Der.” Stiles took a sip and closed his eyes, smiling. “Mmm, that’s really good. And warm.”

Derek grabbed another blanket and sat beside Stiles, their knees touching. Stiles raised his eyebrows at Derek, who shrugged and said, “I can tell you’re cold.”

“So you thought you’d share some of your hot chocolate and super-wolfy body heat?” Stiles teased, bumping his shoulder into Derek. 

“I can go back in the other room if you want,” Derek said drily.

“No! I like your super-wolfy body heat. In fact, I’ve never appreciated it more.” Stiles scooted closer to Derek, aligning their hips so that the entire side of their bodies touched, and Derek threw the second blanket over them. They both sat, sipping their drinks and staring into the fire, the crackling of logs and occasional gusts of wind outside the only sound. 

Stiles finished his drink and sat the mug over to the side. “Hey,” he asked quietly. “I was wondering.”

Derek laughed softly. “Shocker.”

Stiles smiled. “I was just… surprised. That you left the fireplace when you rebuilt the house. What with the house having burned down and all.”

Derek leaned back on his hands, still turned toward the fireplace, the light from it dancing across the planes of his face. “I actually thought about tearing it out. Came really close to doing so. But eventually, I couldn’t. I have a lot of good memories around this fireplace. Mom and Dad handing out presents in front of it, roasting marshmallows with my sisters. I even burned Laura’s Spice Girls CD in it once, because she wouldn’t stop listening to it and I thought I was going to tear my ears out. She was so pissed at me, she chased me through the woods and up a tree.”

“Ha! Did that get you away from her?” Stiles asked, grinning.

“Hell no. She climbed the tree after me and threw me out of it. Then she burned my copy of _Franny and Zooey._ ” Derek laughed, his smile bright in his eyes. “Since the fire was caused by a psycho-bitch and not the fireplace, I finally decided to leave it. I hated to give up the good memories.” He turned to Stiles. “You know?”

Stiles smiled. “Yeah. I know.” He was quiet for a moment, and then said, softly, “That’s the first time you’ve talked about them so openly to me.” 

Derek turned back to the fire, his leg pressing against Stiles as he shifted. He squinted into the fireplace. “Yeah. I guess… rebuilding this place took away some of the pain, or at least gave me back some of the good parts.”

“I get that. With my mom… well, the only way out was through. But once I got through, I could remember the good parts again, not just the loss.”

“Exactly,” Derek said. “Restoring all this… it was cathartic.”

“Like rebuilding yourself as you rebuilt the house?” Stiles asked, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as he turned toward Derek.

Derek looked at him, his eyes soft, their faces only a few inches apart. “Yeah.” His eyes flicked to Stiles’ lips and back up. He swallowed. “You always did understand,” he said quietly, and Stiles pressed forward, closing the distance between them, brushing his lips gently against Derek’s before he pulled away. Derek froze, eyes wide, and Stiles’ face clouded over for an instant before Derek surged forward, fisted his hands in Stiles’ sweatshirt and leaned into him, covering Stiles’ lips with his own, his kiss hot and insistent. Stiles made a noise in the back of his throat before pressing back into Derek, his hands coming up, one to cup Derek’s face and the other to fist in his hair, his long fingers carding through the surprisingly soft hair at the back of Derek’s neck. Derek let out a groan of his own and grabbed Stiles by the hips, pulling him around to straddle Derek’s lap, his fingers slipping beneath Stiles’ layers to skim across the cool skin of his back. Stiles licked gently at Derek’s bottom lip and Derek opened his mouth to caress Stiles’ tongue with his own, mouths sliding hotly against one another as they pressed into one another with fingers and tongues and bodies, a tangle of limbs and clothes and blankets. 

Stiles pulled back, panting, his hand still wound through Derek’s hair. His eyes closed, he breathed out, “Fuck, Derrrrrek…”.

Derek nosed across Stiles’ jawline, licking at the dark moles that dotted his skin, his fingers splayed against Stiles’ back. “Hmm?” Derek hummed at him as he took Stiles’ earlobe between his lips and tugged gently with his teeth.

Stiles arched against Derek, his hand in Derek’s hair tightening, and gasping, said, “Fucking _finally”,_ as he dove back in to recapture Derek’s mouth. Stiles rocked his hips down into Derek, dragging himself across Derek’s hard cock and eliciting a growl from the back of his throat that Stiles swallowed up with his mouth hot and tight against Derek’s. Derek slid his hands around Stiles’ slim hips and dug his fingers in, hard, his own breath coming fast, Stiles’ lips bruising against his own. Stiles kissed down the side of Derek’s face, the drag of Derek’s stubble sharp and delicious against his lips, nipping at the side of his neck as Derek slid his hands around to Stiles’ ass and squeezed, pulling him back down to grind against him again, his own hips canting up to meet Stiles. 

Stiles moaned, sliding his hands down to the hem of Derek’s henley, working it up his torso, muttering, “Get this fucking thing _off_ already, why are you even _wearing_ clothes?” Derek laughed, pulling back enough to comply with Stiles’ request, and Stiles immediately pressed Derek back to the floor, settling his knees alongside Derek’s thighs and wasting no time licking a hot, wet stripe across Derek’s clavicle, dipping his tongue into the hollow of Derek’s throat as he rolled his hips against him. Derek stretched his head back, deliberately giving Stiles access to his neck, Stiles’s throaty moan an indication it was a gesture lost on neither of them. His fingertips were digging into Stiles’ thighs and he pressed his hips up to meet Stiles’, their jean-clad erections sliding against one another, too many layers between them adding to the delicious frustration. Stiles made a strangled noise, sat up and unzipped first one hoodie, then the other, throwing them to the side, and Derek ran his hands up his sides, helping slide Stiles’ t-shirt off and running his palms back down Stiles’ chest, his fingertips tracing the edges of the muscles the flickering firelight set into relief. 

“Fuck, you smell so _good,_ Stiles. And you shouldn’t wear clothes either,” Derek gritted out, sliding his hands down to the waist of Stiles’ jeans, flicking the button open with one hand as the fingertips of the other slid beneath the fabric, threading through the dark hair below his navel and tugging lightly. “Ever,” he said, and Stiles groaned and leaned forward over Derek, kissing him again, his tongue sliding insistently against Derek’s at the same time that he slid their hips against each other again. Gasping, Derek ran his hands up the smooth skin of Stiles’ back, fingers splayed against his spine, the skin warming under his hands. As Stiles began to kiss his way down Derek’s chest, Derek tangled one hand in Stiles’ hair, his fingers fisting and a hiss escaping his lips as Stiles ran his tongue across Derek’s nipple and then bit down on it lightly, the flesh pebbling between the edge of his teeth. He ran his lips across to the other nipple, swirling his tongue around it as well before sucking it into his mouth. “Fuck, Stiles,” Derek groaned as he arched his back, bucking his hips up into him.

“We’ll get to that,” Stiles said, and Derek could feel the grin against his skin as Stiles dipped lower, nosing at Derek’s stomach, his tongue briefly dipping into Derek’s navel. Derek huffed out a laugh that quickly turned to a groan as Stiles pressed his face against the front of Derek’s jeans, nuzzling his cheek along the arched length of Derek’s cock trapped behind his zipper. He rolled his face around to look up at Derek, and as their eyes met, Stiles grinned and, propping himself up on his elbows, slid his hands up to pop open the button of Derek’s jeans, sliding the zipper down so slowly that Derek threw his head back and growled in frustration. Stiles laughed as he sat up and pulled at Derek’s pants, wiggling them down his hips, dragging his boxer briefs down with them. His cock, uncut, thick, and straight, twitched against his stomach, droplets of precome sliding down the head as Stiles watched. Derek’s skin looked alive, like it was dancing in the firelight, his whole body one long golden flickering glow, and Stiles sat back on his heels for a moment, just looking at Derek and shaking his head slightly.

Derek, watching him, asked softly, “What?”

“You’re just… god, it’s _unreal_ how beautiful you are.” He reached a tentative hand out and slid it up Derek’s leg, over his knee and up his thigh, and Derek let his legs fall open as Stiles cupped his hand around Derek’s hip, ran his long fingers across his skin and finally wrapped them around Derek’s cock. 

Derek moaned and thrust his hips up into Stiles’ grip, and Stiles leaned over and swiped his tongue through the precome pooled on Derek’s stomach, eliciting a filthy noise from Derek, who choked out a breathy, “Stiles, Jesus, fuck,” as Stiles ran his hand through it as well before wrapping his fingers back around the length of Derek, using Derek’s own fluid to lubricate the drag of his hand up and down Derek’s cock, his thumb swiping over the slit and his fingertips catching at the foreskin, sliding it down. He jacked Derek once, twice, his mouth ajar as he watched Derek writhing, fisting his hands into the blanket underneath him. Unable to resist any longer, Stiles settled himself between Derek’s legs and licked a wet stripe up Derek’s dick, from root to tip, and then wrapped his kiss-swollen lips around the head, swirling his tongue around it before swallowing Derek down, his hand still wrapped around the base. He hollowed his cheeks and slowly took as much of Derek as he could, his lips finally meeting his hand, and working his mouth and fingers in tandem he slid back up, laving his tongue along the bottom of Derek’s cock. Stiles found a rhythm, slowly at first and then building, relishing the slide of Derek over his tongue. Derek was making delightful noises, little sighs and grunts, and Stiles pulled off to mouth at Derek’s balls, sucking first one, then the other into his mouth and flicking his tongue across the soft skin just behind them, making Derek moan. As he swallowed Derek’s cock back down Derek fisted his hand into Stiles’ hair, not pushing him but just holding, as he let out a breathy, “God, your _mouth_ , Stiles, _fuck_ ,” arching his back as Stiles tongued at his slit. Stiles hummed in either agreement or appreciation, and Derek tightened the grip he had on Stiles’ hair, thrusting shallowly up into his mouth. 

“Stiles… god, Stiles… I’m gonna come,” Derek growled, but Stiles just made eager noises, dug his fingers into Derek’s hips and took his cock as deep as he could, tongue and mouth working together, and Derek lost it, coming with a shout, filling Stiles’ mouth with the pulses of his orgasm. Stiles sucked him though it, swallowing around him, and as Derek let out a great shuddering breath Stiles let his cock fall out of his mouth with an obscene popping noise, whereupon he began to gently lick Derek’s thighs and stomach. Derek, in an orgasm-induced haze, finally realized that Stiles was licking up the come that had dripped out of his mouth and the wet spot Derek had made on his stomach, and he made a strangled noise. “That’s so fucking hot,” he told Stiles, right before he grasped Stiles’ arms and hauled him up to kiss him, his tongue sweeping through Stiles’ mouth, chasing his own taste from Stiles’ tongue. 

Stiles bucked his hips into Derek, his hard cock still trapped in his jeans, and pleaded, “Derek, I need to come, god, you’re so hot, I just need to come,” punctuating it with another roll of his hips. “Can I come on you?” he asked in a breathless voice.

Derek, not sure what he was agreeing to, bit down gently on the side of Stiles’ neck and said, “Yes, anything, of course.” Stiles quickly sat up, unzipped his jeans and slid them down his thighs, his dick popping free and slapping against his stomach. Sitting up on his knees over Derek, he wrapped his own hand around himself, jerking himself roughly, his other hand reaching down to cup his balls, kneading them lightly as he pulled at his cock, twisting his hand on each upstroke to thumb across the head. His head was thrown back and his eyes were closed, his pink tongue flicking out to lick his swollen lips, and Derek reached out and grasped Stiles by the hips. “God _damn,_ Stiles,you are so beautiful,” he said, his voice heavy and commanding. Stiles opened his eyes to meet Derek’s gaze, and his mouth fell into a perfect O as he arched his back and came, hot stripes of come painting Derek’s stomach and chest, a small bit even hitting him on the chin. 

Stiles sagged, his body sinking back against his heels and looking at Derek. Derek arched an eyebrow at Stiles, then ran a finger through the mess on his chest and slid it into his mouth, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked Stiles’ come from his fingertip. Stiles made an incoherent noise and leaned back over Derek, licking the spot of come off Derek’s chin before kissing him again, his tongue catching on Derek’s bottom lip and then biting down softly. Derek grinned against his face and slid his hand into Stiles’ hair, kissing him back, his tongue fucking slowly into Stiles’ mouth, both of them sated and drunk on each other. Stiles ran his fingers through the come on Derek’s chest, rubbing it into his skin and then ducking his head to lick it off again.

“Stiles… are you… are you scent marking me?” Derek asked. 

He could smell the blush that crept up Stiles’ face. “Maybe,” Stiles muttered, licking across Derek’s nipple and gently biting down.

“I like it,” he said, running his hands along Stiles’ back. He sat up, pulled Stiles’ jeans and boxers the rest of the way off, and wrapped one of the blankets around them and then wrapped his arms around Stiles. He kissed Stiles gently, chastely. “We smell like _us._ It’s good.”

Stiles nestled his head in the crook of Derek’s neck and hummed contentedly. “I’ve wanted to do that so bad, since I was sixteen. You don’t even know.”

“Yeah. I do know,” Derek said, his fingers threading through Stiles’ hair.

“What, like you could smell it on me?” Stiles asked, arching his neck to look up at Derek.

Derek laughed. “Teenagers pretty much constantly smell like desire. You more than most.” He turned to Stiles, a more somber expression settling on his face. “What I meant was I do know, because… well, because I’ve wanted you since then, too.”

“You have?”

“So much,” Derek said with a sigh.

Stiles reached out and touched his face, ran his long fingers down the side of Derek’s neck. He nodded. “I get why you never said anything. The age gap, all the trying not to die.” He leaned forward and kissed Derek, his lips sliding softly across Derek’s. He pulled back just far enough to look Derek in the eye. “But I’m really, really glad to be here now.”

Derek smiled. “Me, too.” 

Stiles smiled back and lay his head down on Derek’s arm, his face soft and his eyes slipping closed. “I will learn to love the skies I’m under,” he murmured almost dreamily.

“What?” asked Derek, leaning up on his elbow to look down at Stiles.

Stiles laughed and stretched, then reached out to wrap his hand around Derek’s waist. “It’s lyrics from this song. ‘I will learn to love the skies I’m under.’ It’s always reminded me of you, out here, rebuilding your house and your life. You’ve come into your own. You’re happy now, because you’ve learned to love the skies you’re under.”

Derek looked down at Stiles, an impossible fondness filling him, which he let spill out into a kiss. “You’re part of my sky, you know,” he told Stiles, cupping his face, his thumb sliding across his cheekbone.

“I do now.” They kissed again, slowly, a kiss with the promise of more in it, a soft caress of lips and tongues, unhurried but deep. Their hands wandered, sliding across each others’ back and sides, fingers exploring hollows, nails scratching across muscles, legs entangled, both of them eventually growing hard and their cocks slowly sliding against one another, and yet they were still gentle, unhurried, touching each other deliberately, inquisitively, mapping out one another’s bodies. The fire had died down but still burning and casting its flickering light across them, and wrapped together they were warm, the sound of the wind outside echoing each others’ soft breaths and gasps. 

Derek leaned back, looked at Stiles, and shook his head.

“What?” asked Stiles, smiling.

“Merry Christmas, Stiles,” Derek said.

And it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it, me working my holiday Sterek feels out.  
> My first m/m fic, so I hope it's okay. God but I just love the two of them.  
> I could actually keep going, since, as Stiles might point out, they haven't yet gotten to the fucking.  
> Would y'all be interested in such a thing?
> 
> Lyrics are from Mumford & Sons (from the same song as the fic title, "Hopeless Wanderer", get what I did there?).

**Author's Note:**

> This is my second ever fanfic, so be gentle. That being said, comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated!
> 
> Thanks for reading. Your kudos fuel my delicate self-esteem.
> 
> Title from Mumford & Sons, "Hopeless Wanderer"


End file.
